


I Guess I Will Never Know

by saturrn_writes



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29740542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturrn_writes/pseuds/saturrn_writes
Summary: Tony, Ziva, Vance, and Gibbs are in Tel Aviv at the request of Ziva’s father following the death of Michael Rivkin. Ziva is angry, she and Tony finally have a heated confrontation about Michael that turns into… something else.
Relationships: Ziva David/Anthony DiNozzo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	I Guess I Will Never Know

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place partway through S6E25.  
> TW// language, violence, smut, choking, mentions of death/murder

Tony was finally free. At least, free from the intense gaze of Eli David and the interrogation room. The sunlight outside of the Mossad complex was warm on his face and he took a few minutes to collect himself. Behind him, a door slammed shut and he turned to find a very angry Ziva David stalking towards him.   
“What the hell was that?” she demanded, stopping a foot away from him and crossing her arms. He could see she was itching for a fight, and he wasn’t inclined to stop her. He was in the right in the situation; Michael Rivkin had attacked him, not the other way around, and his actions were justified. He felt horrible for hurting Ziva, but he also felt that he had protected her from something worse. Eli David had all but admitted that Rivkin had been using Ziva, and he was livid. This man was her father, but he had one hell of a way of showing his love for his daughter.   
“What was what, Ziva? That absolute joke of an interrogation?” His blood was boiling at her accusatory tone, and although he was sympathetic to her feelings he was also not going to back down. “You heard what he said, he practically admitted that Rivkin was using you!”  
“My father would not do that to me.” Her voice was cold, her jaw firmly set, but he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes.   
“I’m sorry about Michael, okay? I’ve said it a million times, I don’t know what more you want from me.” He threw his right arm into the air, the left one still secured in its sling. “Hit me then.”  
“What?” She cocked her head, anger still rolling off of her.   
“It’ll make you feel better. Hit me. As much as you want. Just maybe not my left arm.” He steeled himself, shutting his eyes and waiting for her attack. A moment passed in stillness and he opened one eye just in time to see her leg swing out and make contact with his right side. He doubled over, the wind knocked out of him as she stepped forward and pushed him backwards with both hands. He hit the ground hard, unable to make a sound as he fought to catch his breath. She was on him in a second, keeping him pinned to the ground. He waited for her to hit him again. Instead, she pulled a knife from her boot and held it to his throat.   
“Give me a reason I shouldn’t kill you right now,” she growled, digging her knees into his ribs. He searched her eyes for a sign of… something, he wasn’t sure what. But all he could see was hurt, anger, and pain. She needed someone to blame, someone to hurt, and she had chosen him. He didn’t necessarily fault her for it, but it killed him more than the knife she wanted to slit his throat with. Before he could answer, Gibbs and Vance pulled her off of him. She didn’t fight back against them. Instead, she sent a cutting glare down at him and shrugged the two men off of her. “I need to speak with my father.” She turned on her heel and disappeared inside, knife still clutched in her hand.  
Gibbs knelt beside him. “Are you okay, DiNozzo?”   
“I think so.” He groaned as Gibbs helped him to sit up. He felt like he had been hit by a car, but he wasn’t going to admit that to his boss. “She’s a feisty one.”  
“Leon, give me a hand,” Gibbs said over his shoulder, and together they pulled him to his feet.   
“Go get some rest, DiNozzo. We’ll call you if we need you,” Vance ordered, but not unkindly. He gave Tony’s right shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to have a word with Eli.” He gave Gibbs a look that Tony couldn’t quite decipher before going back inside. The two Mossad agents standing by the doors didn’t make eye contact with either Tony or Gibbs as they walked slowly up the stairs together, with Tony using Gibbs as a crutch.   
“I’ll get you some ice,” Gibbs offered as they got to Tony’s room, helping him into the small, cramped space before leaving again in search of ice.  
“Thanks, boss,” he said as Gibbs’ footsteps receded down the hall. He sank down onto the bed, kicking off his shoes in slow motion as the soreness settled through his body. She had done a number on him and she hadn’t even hit him that hard. He stretched out on top of the covers, tucking his good arm under his head as he stared at the ceiling. She had so much fight in her, but he wished more than anything that she would direct it at someone else.   
A knock on the door startled him out of his reverie. Gibbs stepped into the room with a bag of ice in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Tony accepted both with gratitude, wrapping the sheet around the ice before applying it to his side. He inhaled sharply at the combined sensation of weight and cold, but he knew it would help. Besides, he wasn’t about to argue with Gibbs. “Call if you need something, DiNozzo,” Gibbs said once he was satisfied that Tony was settled again, then he disappeared. He dug his phone out of his pocket and set it on the small bedside table beside him before he closed his eyes. 

He was suddenly standing in Ziva’s apartment, unharmed, looking around in a daze. Michael Rivkin stood in the center of the living room, watching him with a bemused expression.   
“Looking for something, DiNozzo?” Rivkin asked, his dark eyes tracking Tony as he stepped farther into the apartment. He didn’t answer. Why was he there? The apartment was empty. No furniture, no picture frames, no shoes beside the door. “Answers, perhaps?”  
“I don’t want anything from you, Rivkin,” he growled, a sudden burst of anger flaring to life in his chest.   
Rivkin laughed. “Oh but you do, Tony. You want her.” He waved a hand and a photo of Ziva appeared in Tony’s grasp. She was smiling up at him from beneath an NCIS baseball cap, her hair pulled back. It was the first picture Tony had taken of her at a crime scene in the name of “probie hazing”. His heart fluttered but he kept his expression neutral as he looked back at Rivkin.   
“It doesn’t matter, Rivkin. You already lost her. She isn’t yours. She never was. You were a liar, you used her, you didn’t love her.” He didn’t know where his words came from, but they all rang true. Rivkin wasn’t wrong, exactly, but Tony found Rivkin’s word choice distasteful. “Besides, you don’t own her. You never did. She’s more herself than any of us will ever be, and she will never be anyone’s to give or take like your mom’s Tupperware.” His anger was only building as he stepped closer to Rivkin, reaching for his weapon. But he wasn’t armed. He looked down in shock, and when he looked up again Rivkin was gone. Ziva stood in his place, knife in one hand. She didn’t seem as angry as she had earlier, but she wasn’t calm either. She seemed to radiate heat and energy as he got nearer. He reached out a hand to her, unable to speak, but she swatted it away casually.   
“Why are you here, Tony?” Her voice was almost bored as she glared at him. “Here to take something else that is not yours?” She glanced around. “Where is Michael?”   
“He was here, and then when I looked again, he was you.” He frowned. “Um. He was there and then you took his place.” The more he tried to explain what had happened the stupider he sounded. His confusion and desperation seemed to amuse her, though. She laughed sharply.   
“Tony, you are having such a strange dream. Do you think that it means something? Or maybe you feel guilty about what happened to Michael?” Ziva was still Ziva but her voice was wrong. It sounded a little like his father, or maybe Gibbs. Either way, it was creeping him out a little. There was a knock at the apartment door. “You should probably get that,” not-quite-Ziva told him. “It might be important.” 

Tony jerked awake, the bag of ice slipping to the floor. It was mostly water at this point anyway. He looked around, slightly dazed. He was in the small room at Mossad, and he was alone. His phone wasn’t ringing, but he ached all over. Flashes of his fight with Ziva jumped into his head as he sat up and he sighed, reaching for the bottle of water. There was a knock at his door, the same sound that he had heard in his dream. He shook himself a little, the weird feeling from his sleep still lingering in his limbs.   
“One second, I’m coming,” he called out, standing cautiously. The pain in his side had dulled some because of the ice but the tightness in his chest had only increased. He staggered to the door, turning the light on before he opened it. Ziva stood in the hallway. Her eyes were red, and when he looked her up and down, he noticed her bruised and bloodied knuckles. “Did you fight your way up here, Ziva?” He couldn’t decide if he was happy to see her or not.   
“May I come in?” Any trace of the anger she held earlier was gone. She seemed deflated and unsettled, but not angry. Satisfied that she wasn’t here to kill him after all, he let her in.   
“You look like hell,” he said as he shut the door. He moved slowly back to the bed and sat down, looking up at her expectantly.   
“I spoke with my father.” She either didn’t hear his question or was purposefully ignoring him. “It seems that your instincts about Michael were not just fueled by blind jealously.” She sighed. “I am sorry for attacking you earlier. I blamed you for everything. I never expected that my father would do something like that, not after everything else that has happened.” She started pacing, but because of the size of the room she could only manage a few feet in each direction before turning again. “I do not know what I am supposed to do now. My father wants me to stay in Israel.” She continued to pace but she fell silent, rubbing the tops of her hands as she walked.   
“Do you want to stay in Israel?” he finally asked. He hoped she would say no, that she would come home with them and never leave him again. But he also meant what he had told Rivkin in his dream, about Ziva being herself and not belonging to anyone. He would like to call her his, but not in the way that Rivkin had, not in a way that would make her feel trapped. Not the way her father loved her.   
“I do not know.” She stopped in front of him, her eyes soft for the first time since Rivkin’s death. “What do you think I should do?”  
He took a deep breath. “Whatever helps you heal, Ziva.” He looked at her hands again. “Boxing match with daddy dearest?”  
She smiled faintly, just for a moment, but then her face clouded over again. “Not exactly. It did not feel right to use you as my punching bag, so I found a proper one.” She looked down at the floor. “I am sorry for hurting you. It made me feel better for a moment, but I have felt worse all afternoon about it.” She reached a hand out to him and he took it, squeezed gently. “How are your ribs?”  
“They’ve felt better.” While not untrue, he didn’t want her to know how much she hurt him, how frequently she made his heart ache. She knelt on the floor in front of him, resting one hand on his knee and reaching the other for the hem of his shirt.   
“Can I see?” Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, and his heart skipped as he nodded. She lifted his shirt up and he followed her gaze. There was an ugly purple bruise covering a wide swath of his right side, and she dropped his shirt quickly when she saw it. “I am so sorry, Tony.” She stood up, taking a step back from him. “I should go.”   
“After all that, you’re just going to run away?” he snapped. The anger he had felt in his dream sprouted up again, taking him a little by surprise. She seemed taken aback but not entirely shocked at his response.   
“I do not want to make things worse. That seems to be all I am capable of doing lately.” She took another step back as he stood up, both of their movements seemingly in slow motion.   
“Didn’t think you of all people were afraid of a little confrontation, Officer David.” He was challenging her, daring her to face whatever she was so afraid of. Normally she was the one doing the intimidating, but this time was different. He held the upper hand; he was the one in control. “But if you want to leave then go, I’m not going to stop you.” He couldn’t have stopped her if he wanted to, at least not physically. But she didn’t run.   
“What do you want, Tony?” She sounded tired all of a sudden, but her eyes were brighter than they had been when she first showed up at his door. He looked her up and down again, following her curves with his eyes.   
“I want to ask you a question.” He took a careful step toward her, not wanting to scare her off but tired of her forcing distance between them. “Did you love him?”   
She didn’t react to the question for a moment, just stood there in silence staring at him. Finally, she moved forward toward him, looked him in the eyes with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “I guess I will never know.”   
He had no response for that. If she had said yes, he would have felt more guilty for what had happened but also more deeply hurt. If she had said no, he would have asked her why she cared so much and had treated him like that after he killed Rivkin. He hadn’t expected this unknown third option, one that held more weight and more uncertainty for both of them. He thought back to the conversation he and Rivkin had had in his dream. Maybe this third option was better after all. His anger fizzled into wanting, a deep longing that he was tired of ignoring. He leaned forward, grasping her waist with his good hand, and kissed her.   
This surprised her, and it took her a moment to react. Instead of pushing him away she pulled him closer, careful not to hurt him this time. Her arms slowly wrapped over his shoulders, her hands resting on the back of his head. Her touch was soft but warm, and he wanted to melt into her embrace. There was so much uncertainty outside of this room, but all of that fell to the wayside as he deepened the kiss. This was how their earlier encounter should’ve ended, not with her pressing a knife to her throat.   
“Tony,” she murmured against his lips, a sweet sigh that only encouraged him. He started to walk backwards, pulling her with him until he bumped into the edge of the bed and sank down. She followed him down, leaning away from him long enough for him to get settled in a seated position against the wall before she was on him again. He hummed his approval as she climbed into his lap, one knee on either side of him as he tried to unclip his sling with one hand. She laughed, pulling back to help him. “I will try to be gentle, I promise,” she assured him as he dropped the sling to his side, forgotten as he finally wrapped both of his arms around her. Despite the awkwardness of his cast, this was the most comfortable he had ever been. Her closeness had always felt like protection, and now it felt like a sanctuary. She felt like home, even in this fragile state of unknowing.   
“Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me, David,” he joked as she leaned back again, looking at him with concern.   
“I just do not want to hurt you anymore, Tony.” She seemed so sincere and all he could do was stare into her pretty eyes. After a moment she finally smiled. “I do not think I have ever seen you speechless.”   
“There’s a first time for everything,” he conceded as he held her face in his hands. “Now come here.” He pulled her down to him again, but the kiss was different this time, more electric and intense, a deeper want bordering on need palpable between them. Neither of them wanted to let this go, but they both seemed hesitant to push further. Finally, Ziva took another step toward the line, the one that they couldn’t uncross; her battered hands grabbed his shirt, pulling it up once again.   
“Is this okay?” she asked, waiting on an answer before she continued. He nodded, shifting away from the wall a little to make it easier for her. His sleeve caught on the cast for a second and she laughed quietly as she tugged it off. He couldn’t help but smile; this was a relief after days and days of the cold shoulder and endless angry stares. She ran her fingertips over his exposed skin, ghosting over the insidious bruise on his side before continuing just above the waistband of his jeans. His breath caught as she brought her lips to his neck, kissing up toward his jaw and nipping at his earlobe. He wanted to take all of her clothes off slowly and drink in all her curves and shapes, but he was not in a position to try and change their position. Instead, he pushed her gently away from him to lift her shirt over her head. She helped him, tossing it behind her as he traced his hands over her torso, gliding over her breasts and back down to rest on her waist. She unclasped her bra with one hand, the other cupping his chin with a delicate but slightly possessive touch that made him bite his lip.   
“You really are something else,” he murmured as he raked his eyes over her, trying to memorize her. Beautiful was an inadequate description; even in the low light of this room, she was ethereal. He kissed her shoulder, up her neck and down again, over her chest, savoring her as much as he could. Time stood still as he felt her breath quicken when his mouth closed around one of her nipples, his hands pulling her down against him. He didn’t want to hurt her either, but he liked the red fingerprints his grip left behind; he wanted to make sure she remembered this as vividly as he knew that he would.   
She was graceful as she stood up, tugging her boots off before shimmying out of her cargo pants. He watched hungrily as she pulled her simple grey panties off of her gorgeous legs before moving back onto the bed, her intentions clear and her eyes seeking his in a lustful gaze. If she were anybody else, he would have made some joke about how easy it was to get her naked but not with her. She would have killed him for real, for one thing, but she was so much more than that to him. He wasn’t going to ask her if this meant something to her; he wanted to believe that it mattered more than just a distraction or an apology or some kind of rebound, and it seemed like it did, but he didn’t want to make any assumptions.   
“Tony? Are you okay?” Her voice broke his reverie, edged with a deep concern that made him smile.   
“I’ve never been better,” he assured her. “But I think I’m going to need help with my pants.” They both laughed as she helped him to the edge of the bed before tugging his pants off with sure hands. Her confident fingers ran up the inside of his legs, enjoying the feeling of him before she peeled his boxers off as well. He reached out to her as soon as her hands were free, pulling her back to him. His movement took her by surprise, and she toppled forward, knocking him backwards. Her face was inches from his, her eyes searching his face to make sure he was okay. “I’m fine, I promise,” he said with a laugh, wrapping his arms around her waist. It had hurt a little but the reward of her warm skin touching his more than made up for it.   
“I will stop if you ask me to,” she whispered, running her hand over his jaw and down his chest. “Just tell me.” Slowly, she moved her legs on either side of his, her eyes once again seeking his for confirmation. He wondered if she was always this careful or if she was making an exception for him.   
“You won’t break me, Ziva. I’m not made of glass,” he said earnestly. “Obviously be careful not to break my ribs again or anything, but I don’t need special treatment. I’m just like anyone else.”   
“You are not just anyone, Tony.” Her face softened as she leaned down to kiss him. Her kiss was tender, intense but gentle, and he felt himself melting into her all over again. She didn’t say anything else, just deepened the kiss and pressed herself closer to him.   
Any apprehension he had felt before faded completely, replaced with an intense desire and hunger for her. His hands, dancing over her body, grew rougher and more determined. With confidence, he reached between them so he could guide himself into her. She gasped as she settled onto him, the softness in her eyes replaced by sheer lust. He let her set the pace, his hands guiding her hips as he watched her body move. As she sped up, her hands desperately seeking purchase on the sheets beside his head, he ran one hand across her neck. As he did so, he saw something in her face change; the barest hint of a smirk, a deeper wanting in her eyes. He kept his grip on her hip with his casted arm, his other hand tightening around her throat.   
“Tony…” She said his name in a strangled moan, her eyes rolling back as he squeezed harder. Her rhythm faltered for a moment and he let her go, running his thumb over her jaw.   
“God, I could listen to you say my name like that all day,” he murmured appreciatively. The way she tightened around him wiped the smirk off his face, however, and he knew that he was close. With a smile, she ghosted a hand over his cheek and rested it on his neck, watching his reaction intently. He bit his lip. He knew she could kill him a hundred different ways with her bare hands, but something about that stirred a dark desire within him. He nodded, and she slowed to an agonizing pace as she pressed her hand to this throat. She wasn’t applying enough pressure to kill him or even hurt him, but it was enough to make his head spin as he bucked his hips up into her. “Ziva, please,” he choked out, begging her to fuck him harder.   
“If you are sure, Tony,” she said, and picked up her pace again. She finally let go of his throat, reaching instead to rub her clit as she leaned back. Her eyes were unfocused but determined, and he held onto her as tight as he could when he released with a quiet exhalation of her name. She was right behind him, tightening around him as she reached her own climax with a soft moan. Slowly, she shifted off of him, curling beside him and resting her head on his chest. Neither of them said anything for a few minutes, just listened to the sounds of each other.   
After a few minutes Ziva got up and got dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull her boots on as Tony sat up, resting a hand on her back. “You don’t have to go,” he said as she stood up, taking his hand in hers for a moment.   
“Yes, I do, Tony.” She pressed her lips to the back of his hand before she placed it on his chest. He wanted to ask her what this meant, for them or for her. He wanted her to stay, or at least promise she would come back. Instead, he said nothing. When she opened the door she paused, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Maybe I do know after all,” she said, and disappeared.


End file.
